


Close the Curtains (So the Neighbors Don't See)

by literarytonguetied



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Biting, Breathplay, Frotting, Incest, M/M, PWP, S&M, Spanking, tabletop sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 17:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/600122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literarytonguetied/pseuds/literarytonguetied
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on, Bro, I’m not gonna break.” </p>
<p>His hand is at your crotch in a flash and you really should have seen it coming, but he’s pulling and pressing and it hurts it feels so good. </p>
<p>“You sure about that, kid?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close the Curtains (So the Neighbors Don't See)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [horse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/horse/gifts).



> Written for Kiev's birthday, though it's so late it's become more of an early Christmas present ahaha I'm so sorry.

"What will the neighbor’s think?” 

Bro whispers it in your ear, hot and heavy as his weight pushes on your back. The counter digs into your hips and the sensation is maddening when he grinds up against you. A whimper escapes your throat; you can hear him chuckle above you. Your face grows warm as he licks at the shell of your ear, bites at it.

“Since when have you cared about the neighbors?” It comes out more choked than you would have liked; there’s a pant in your voice and a moan bubbling just beneath the surface. He grinds against you again, and you can feel how hard he is, even with the clothes between you, and the moan breaks free.

You try to hold back a shudder as his hand snakes over your back, bunching up your shirt at times, scraping across your spine and shoulder blades, around your neck. He holds his hand there for a moment and your heart thunders into double time. There is the slightest bit of pressure. Do it. Do it do it do it please. You’re not sure if you said it out loud, you don’t think you did, but with your breath in your ears and him pressing into you so closely and the buzz of arousal beneath your belly button, your attention is split too far to keep track of what’s going on. 

He loosens his grip on your neck and a small whine dribbles off your lips. His hand keeps travelling upwards, into your hair, threading his fingers through it. You take a breath and then he’s gripping you. You shout as he pulls your head back, bends your spine and bares your throat.  
Sharp pain rips through you and settles hotly in your crotch, has you rutting back into him, and into the counter. He holds you still with one, hot hand on your hips as he rolls his hips slowly against you; you can feel his muscles flex against your back, how his fingers dig in. You hope he leaves bruises. 

When he speaks, his lips brush against the tendons that stand out sharply on your neck, and his nose presses against the edge of your jaw. Goosebumps follow where his breath blooms across your skin. “I’m not. But I’m not the one that has to leave the apartment every day. What will they say after hearing you so beautifully-” he nips at you and you let out a high whine, “and find that no one other than you has come or gone?” 

It takes you a moment to decipher what he said, his hand is moving, down your neck, across the front. You swallow as he passes your adam’s apple and the pressure makes your hips jerk. The grip on your hips tightens and it makes you want to thrust again, just the tiniest bit, just a moment of relief against the counter please please please. He does not relinquish his hold, all the while his hand is still moving up and down the column of your neck. His fingers dip into your clavicle and rough, calloused fingers press into the divot, then back up again, tracing the tendons and concavities, mapping it out. His mouth is still against your neck. You think he’s watching his fingers, and you wish you could watch them too. A moment of weakness strikes you, you relax your back a bit, crook your head to see the top of his. His hand flies from your hips to dig into your hair, bending you more, making you press your ass into him as half of your upper body is bent off the countertop. Your arms shake as you make sure to stay at the angle he obviously wants you in, but the hand on your jaw does not stray, and the hand in your hair does not loosen. 

A yelp of pain is morphed into something deeper, gruffer. He rolls his hips again and your arms nearly give out, putting more pressure on your hair, tingling racing up your spine. 

“Do you want the neighbors to know? A little voyeuristic there, li’l man.” 

You should hate him, you should be pissed at him because of all the times he could mess with you, he chooses right the fuck now. Right now when you’re bent and aching and moaning and so so hot. When you can’t answer coherently because of all the shit he’s doing to you. And he knows exactly how to do it, too. Where to stroke and push and press, where to scratch and kiss and bite. What words will make your dick ache and force flush to your face. He’s told you more than once that you look the best when your damn freckles stand out in sharp relief against the red of your blush. Fuck him, you want to growl at him to shut up, you want to strife him, you want him to rip off your pants and fuck you so so hard damn anyone who hears and anyone who cares. 

You want it bad.

“So so bad.” 

“What’s that li’l man?” And fuck you can hear the smirk in his voice because he’s always smirking and it makes your stomach clench and your fingers tense against the countertop. It’s warm where you’ve been laying, cold where your fingers touch. Your fingernails scratch dully against the hard surface and you are so turned around in your own head. 

Hot hot hot and heavy and your dick is so hard it hurts and all he’s done is start a little fight with you that ended up with you face down on the countertop and his hips holding you in place and fuck you loved it so much and you hate him. You hate him enough to kiss him breathless and ground right back to his every movement and arch into him and moan his name and punch his stupid, cocky face and then suck his dick. He’s holding you still, his hands have stopped moving but the pressure is still there and god you wish he would just do something.

And then you realize he’s waiting for an answer from you, an explanation because you said something out loud but you don’t know what you said. All you want to do is lay your head in your arms and feel the press of your shades against your nose and have him ram into you over and over and over again until you can’t remember your own name and everything is white flashing in your eyes. 

You groan and try to move your hips, but he’s got you barricaded in. With a body that’s so much bigger and wider and taller, god he is so strong you want to rake your fingers over his stomach and through his hair and those stupid sideburns you wish you could grow fuck fuck fuck. Your dick twitches and jesus christ you’ll do anything to get him moving again.

“Bro, please.” Please please pleasepleaseplease. You bite your lip, gnaw on it, make it hurt. He’s still for another moment and then the grip on your hair tightens and your spine hurts and god you’ve been waiting for this for so long. The hand on your jaw moves upwards against your lips, tugs your bottom lip out from between your teeth and you let it go with the barest hint of a moan. Two fingers slide into you mouth and you nearly gag around them because of the gasp that slips down your throat.

You hear him chuckle again and it’s so much darker than it was before. “So you do want the neighbors to hear?”

You don’t know the game he’s playing or why he’s playing it but god it feels so good to have something on your mouth. You think he takes your answer in the affirmative by the way you suck his fingers, tongue laving over them, the smallest bit of teeth on the underside. You want him to thrust them, to invade your mouth and make you his. It’s been too long and you can’t handle all of this god damn teasing. You suck on his fingers, really suck on them, try to rub yourself into him. He’s still above you and you think he might be watching you. It sends a thrill through your body that buzzes at your fingertips.

You want to bob your head around his fingers, get into it, make you get on your knees and do it for real. A short tug is the only response when you try. He holds your head back and it’s starting to smart where he holds your hair. You suck harder at his fingers, try to draw them in, down your throat. You hazzard another head bob and he tugs your hair harder. A small grunt wraps around his fingers and god you wish he would do something more. You want him to destroy you. 

“You tryin’ to say something, li’l man?” 

Your ears burn. He presses his fingers insistently against your tongue and you arch your back as far as you can just to get some of the leverage. The asshole holds you there, though, with only your fingertips to hold you up, pressing your hips so hard against the edge of the counter that it hurts. His hips are unrelenting with your ass lifted in the air as much as it is. You attempt to bite harder at his knuckles and then your mouth is empty. There is a growl in your ear and the hand in your hair is pulling so tight you have tears pricking at your eyes. Fingers wet from your sucking are wrapped around your throat and squeezing, tighter and tighter. 

You can’t breath, black is edging at your vision and you can feel your face grow more red. He’s got you pressed up against him, completely flush with the curve of your back. His fingers are wrapped so tightly and you know it’s going to bruise but god is his breath loud in your ear. 

“You really gonna try and pull that shit?” 

When he let’s you go, it’s all at once; his fingers release your hair and your neck and you land hard on your elbows onto the countertop. You suck in deep breaths as he his fingers graze down your back, around your front to cup your hips. He toys at the hem of your shirt, dipping his hands under and into your pants and fuck if he keeps it up you’ll never breathe regularly again. 

You breathe the approximation of an apology and a plea with your head hanging heavy between you tensed shoulders. You can see him out of the corner of your eye has your shades slip down, where his shirt has ridden up as he grinds against you. The curve of his hip and the shadow of musculature dance in your vision as your heaves of breath become pants. 

His fingers are becoming more adventurous, dipping lower and lower. He’s leaning against you and you can feel how hard his entire body is, how taut it’s pulled and the thought makes you shiver. He cups your ass, kneads it with deft fingers, making the cloth of your pants and your boxers rub but not giving enough friction god fucking damn it.

You let out a whimper and he squeezes. You want his fingers back on your throat, you want him twisting through your hair and bending you back. You want his teeth on your neck and shoulders and down your back god you want him to devour you and all this fucking is doing is rocking your hips together like you’re some twink virgin with a penchant for the niceties.

“Come on, Bro, I’m not gonna break.” 

His hand is at your crotch in a flash and you really should have seen it coming, but he’s pulling and pressing and it hurts it feels so good. 

“You sure about that, kid?” He kneads your ass again and jesus fuck you need more than this. You’re hard from all the anticipation and so so fucking wanting because you’ve hardly gotten anything. His hand is at the back of your throat and you stop breathing for a moment; his fingers wrap around and you close your eyes and brace yourself this time, but the pressure never comes. He’s pushing you down onto the counter, making you lay flat on the cold surface when he rams so hard into you you cry out as your feet lift from the floor.

The edge of the counter is pressing painfully against your hips and your arousal and your fingers can’t find purchase on the smooth surface. He relaxes and lets you touch floor again. You let out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding. 

You relax against the counter for a moment while he resumes his gentle gyrations against your ass and you can feel him bend flush over you. The counter digs into your ribs and sternum and there’s pressure on your lungs and you revel in it. His lips are against your ear and you’re shuddering all over and for what? Because this asshole showed a little authority? 

Of course. You fucking love it. 

He bites at the juncture of your shoulder and you jolt, the smallest noise escaping from your clenched teeth, “You really sure about that?” 

And before you can stop yourself you’re nodding feverishly, mumbling fuck yes yes please. You’re jerked backwards by the force that he pulls your pants down. Your dick bobs and you whine.

“Alright then,” A solid hand smacks your ass and you cry out, “count ‘em.”

There’s a mangled sound that comes from your throat and you figure he takes it as your confirmation because he swats you again and you moan deep. His hand rubs against your warmed flesh and fuck it stings and it tingles and you try to move your ass back into him but all you get is another swat on the opposite cheek and it travels up your spine and back to coil hotly in your belly. 

Three, you think thre- four god it hurts and it’s so so good and you can hear Bro getting into it by the way he grunts every time his hand lands on you. He’s rubbing you so slowly, dipping down into the cleft and right back out again and it’s nothing but a tease, a horrible tease that makes your dick twitch with every hand fall. He rubs blunt fingernails across your ass and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does but god you’re sensitive and god it feels so so good.

“More,” you mumble and you’re not entirely sure you said it out loud, but the next spank cracks with the force behind it. It rattles in your ears and makes your back arch and echoes off the walls right back at you. You claw at the table.

He has both hands on your hips and you think he’s finally going to get down to business. You gasp when he lifts you higher onto the countertop, a gruff, “Stay there,” to make you keep on your toes. Your calves already ache and there’s a dull throb from your thighs up that you can feel your heartbeat in. He rubs at your back, at the dimples that divot around your spine just before your ass starts. It is alarmingly gentle, with soft fingers pressing into tense muscle, across your hips and the red that you are sure bares his hand marks, around the inside of your thighs and you tense your shoulders for a minute, anxious and so hopeful that he’ll grab your dick and jerk you a bit. Anything to get rid of the ache of need that has you leaking precum onto the floor. He moves past it and you nearly cry, going on to massage at your thighs and lower. You hear his breathing over your own, wonder how low he plans to go. His hands are halfway down your thigh when he stops.

You tilt your head to ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing. Before you can move, he’s biting at the flesh of your ass, sucking and licking and you want to shoot him because what the hell is he doing planting a hickey right the fuck there. But his teeth feel so good against the heat and the sting and every nerve has corralled near the points of contact. Your dick gives an insistent twitch.

He backs up and the void is cool before he smacks you again, open palmed and heavy punctuated with smooth rubbing and gentle kneading. Again. And again. And again god you can’t help but cry out. There are tears running out of the corner of your eyes and your mouth is open and you murmur his name, quiet and laced with with something neither of you want to touch, it explodes between you and he gives one last, unforgiving spank. Fuck you’re panting and nearly crying and your throat is sore. You must have been crying out more than you realized. You hear him step back from you, and you keep yourself poised on your toes and ass in the air and face nearly on your hands. There’s a strip of drool that glides down your cheek and onto the countertop and you hope that he’ll fuck you so hard your face will end up in it, rubbing against the counter again and again and again after each merciless thrust.

His moan surprises you. A low rumble in his chest, you hear his belt buckle and the clasp of his jeans. You wiggle your ass, ask for him without words, though the whine that escapes your throat is anything but silent.

He sidles up to you, pants open, dick against your ass. “How many?”

“Wuh?”

“How many?” He grips your ass for emphasis, rubs it, squeezes it. 

Ten. You don’t have to think about it. There were exactly ten. Bro is always exact in everything he does. Exact numbers in smuppet piles and the length of mixed songs and how trashy the apartment is supposed to look. 

It’s on the tip of your tongue, it burns against your lips. 

“I don’t know.” You mumble instead. His hand stills. Disappears. Flies into your hair and you let out a short yell as he pulls you back and your back protests how much you bend but he’s pulled you to his face and you can see the way his mouth curls in distaste.

“Why not?”

You don’t have an answer, you stutter something, shutting your eyes tight, tension lancing through your muscles and making your teeth clench. When you don’t move, you chance opening your eyes, glancing over to him, but for the curl in his lip, he remains emotionless. 

His eyes are visible through his shades when you’re this close, and you see them flick down to the movement of your adam’s apple. Your eyebrows shoot up when you see his other hand come up to your face, circling your jaw, fingers pressing against your jugular.

“This is what you want, isn’t it?”

Fuck. 

You nod.

He applies the barest hint of pressure and the most shit-eating grin grows on his face. You wait for it, wait for the black and the urge and the want all over again.

It never comes.

He steps away from you, still holding your head, still holding you poised, when he gives you another spank god fucking shit fucks. Open palmed and open fingered it stings so so much and with your head bent back and your face in the air, you cry out and it’s so resounding god fucking damn it your chest hurts where the air rushed out of you and you’re left breathless and gasping, even as he works to rub the smart away, it reverberates in your bones, down to your toes and up to your fingertips. You grit your teeth as the tears start anew.

“Do you think the neighbors heard that?” He grabs your ass, makes his way down to rub at the base of your dick and you damn well nearly cry in relief. “Or are you past caring? Not good to let your guard down li’l man.” 

You nod feverishly, your legs ache from holding them up. He grasps your hips and you can feel the pressure on your feet lessen as he pulls your ass higher. You bump your chin when your arms shake and give out as he moves you further onto the countertop. He’s holding you by nothing other than your hips, pressing into you to keep you up. The pain on the beginning of your thighs is familiar and you can feel the bruises the counter has started to form. He grinds against you and you whimper.

“Bro, please.” He halts. 

“Please what?”

You lay your head on your arms in frustration, let out a groan and try to hook your legs around his knees. You sort of succeed, with your ankles against his thighs and your ass pressed against him.

He bends over you and your breath rattles in your lungs. “Gotta use your words.” He nips your neck. 

“More, please, Bro, come on.” You are beyond caring, you will get louder and louder until he fucks you raw and good.

“Not really he words I’m lookin’ for here, kid.” 

“Fuck you.” You are fucking stupid to pull shit like that. You hope he chokes you again. 

He doesn’t, but he does wrap his fingers around your throat, twist your head until you’re looking at him. “Now, I don’t think that’s really what you intended to say.” He’s rocking steadily, now, dry against you. You drip precum on the floor.

There is silence between the two of you, though your pants are harsh and his breath is rough and low. He dips a hand between your legs and tugs at your dick and you keen. It snaps your fortitude like a twig and the noises you make are peppered with, “Fuck me, fuck me, please Bro, please please please fuck me.” It burns the back of your throat, makes your tongue feel leaden. It’s not how a Strider works, never show weakness but fuck you are shaking and you want it so so bad and fuck your pride and fuck your brother because you need this. He jerks you, a few quick upstrokes that have you shaking and pleading more and fuck everything is just a roar in your ears.

He drops you gently to the ground, a grunt of, “Stay,” has you with your knees bent against the wall of the counter trying to relieve some pressure that has you sweating and you lay your head on the cold surface. You listen for his footsteps, slow your breathing to a crawl even though you’re squirming in place, just to see if you can hear him coming. 

His hand on your dick means that you cannot, in fact, hear him coming. He chuckles at your jump, slowly strokes you until you’re quivering again, murmuring something in your ear that you can’t hear because of your rushing blood. Everything is his hand and his muffled words and the quick beat of your heart. 

Bro seems to be done playing his shitty little games; he pops the cap of lube and pours it across your ass and you yelp. The fucker didn’t bother warming it or anything.

It quickly becomes a non-issue as you feel him smooth his fingers across your back and on your ass. It still bears the heat of his hand, and as he rubs the lube around, pushes and prods in a way that relaxes your muscles and makes your knees weak, you find yourself breathing through your sleeve, trying to keep the noise down. A bit of a moot point at this rate, since you’ve screamed and moaned and threw your voice around like a grade A porn star. 

Bro’s hands stills and you think he must have noticed what you’re doing. “What’s the matter, afraid of making too much noise?” And it’s humiliating and degrading and makes you blush something fierce as blood rushes to your dick. “It’s totally okay, li’l man,” he says as he massages lube around your thighs, “but personally, I like to hear a little bit now and then.” 

You moan. You can’t take it, you can’t take it when he renders you speechless and motionless save for the sounds he draws out and the trembling he creates. It’s impossible for you not to react when he makes you feel like shit and praises you in the same breath. You love it and you hate it; you want to make him proud and god damn you try, you play his stupid little games and jump to every little command and he knocks you down and that just makes you want to try more. You just want him to treat you like trash because you fucking get off on it, and you can’t stand it when he says something nice to you because god every nerve ending comes alive with euphoria, and to know that the whole time you’ve been goaded into being loud, even as he messes with you about it, he was happy. He was happy with you and glad you were doing what was unsaid and the thought makes you nearly sob a moan. 

He must know what he does to you, he has to, the calculating dick. And the minute he starts speaking, you know he’s found something else. 

“Good boy, good good boy, aren’t you?” He makes it sound sincere, but you feel lowered, like you’re a dog and he’s petting you for fetching the fucking ball and that’s exactly what you’ve done. He rubs a hand over your hip and there are sharp pinpricks where the beginning of bruises have formed and you feel like you are actually being petted. He coos something and you bark at him to shut the fuck up. He just laughs, soft and breathy and you wish you hadn’t said anything because you like when he fucks with you and pushes you and makes you mad. You want to do something to piss him off again, so he’ll be rough instead of this gentle rub down. You want him to do something to you for being such a shit and then pull this cooing crap when you do well but not the point it’s taken. You want the degradation of it all, and you don’t know if it laces his words but if you pretend it does it feels so much better. You’re becoming desperate with the soft stuff,The aftercare comes after and right now you want to be pounded and bruised and bitten. 

He has to be a fucking mind reader because he bites your shoulder, hard. He might have broken skin. The shudder wracks through you and you revel in the sensation. 

Bro chuckles again and his hand is dipping into the cleft of your ass. You want to spread your legs but your pants are wrapped around your ankles and your boxers are stuck around your knees. His pants are just unzipped, pushed past his hips so he doesn’t get his dick stuck or anything and you know because the zipper scrapes against the back of your thigh every time he moves. You’d complain but he might pull some stupid stunt like listening to you and the sensation is just too good to pass up. 

He’s rutting against you and gripping your shoulder and his teeth dance across your shoulder blades, biting down, sucking, alternating it just to draw different sounds out of you. His fingers are still busy, sliding down the cleft and prodding against your asshole, spreading the lube.When he puts pressure against the ring of muscle, you gasp, and when pushes the beginning of his middle finger in you thrust your hips, simultaneously trying to press his finger in and get it out. He pours more lube, you shiver from the cold, and starts working you in earnest, in, out, in, out. Another finger, more lube. He curls his fingers and you twitch all over, a jerk turned into a shudder that slides up your spine and twists itself into a moan in your mouth. 

You grunt as he puts a hand against your back, pushing you into the counter and forcing your ass upwards with the three fingers he has in you. 

“Hurts,” you whine out and he pulls you a little higher. 

“I thought you said you could take it.” He releases some pressure, thrusting his fingers again.

You squirm on the countertop. 

“Aw, don’t pout, li’l bro.” He rakes his hands down your back and the arch in your spine follows his touch. “I was only messin’.” He removes his fingers and uses both hands to squeeze the cheeks of your ass.

“Fuck you.” You groan it, and you think that makes it lose some of its vitriol.

Bro just laughs, dick sliding against you, hands rubbing at you; you want his hands everywhere. 

“I think you got that a little flipped around.” He grunts as he pushes harder against you, hard enough for you to move on the counter, for your skin to slide with a strange squeak against the hard surface. 

There’s a moment of stillness.

Bro makes a sound of musing, and you feel very cold as he steps back. “You know, speaking of flipped around...” 

You don’t want to admit you let out a sound very similar to a squeal when bro tightens his grip around your middle. He flips you onto your back and you have a moment when you can’t catch your breath and dark spots flit in and out of your vision. You feel very open and exposed with bro holding your legs up, your cock throbbing deep red and your legs splayed for him. The warmth of your blush crawls down to lay duskily on your chest, and your eyes widen when he leans in close, flush, you can feel the movements of his chest as he breaths, hear his breath in your ear.

“I figure-” and you love the way he talks. Figgur. It’s drawling and warm, “that this is a bit more intimate, what do you think?” 

A sigh trickles down your lips and you can feel his smile against your neck. 

“You’re always so vocal, mumblin’ and shit, what happened?” 

You arch against him, force friction between you, “What do you think?” A gasp, you’re writhing beneath him, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him into you. You feel him tense, feel him give a small jerk, like he can’t help it, like he’s just effected as you, you grip his forearms and he plants his palms firmly on the table next to your head.

He’s smirking at you, sweating a little bit. His glasses are falling down his nose and you reach a tentative hand to remove them. He snatches your hand away, presses it to the table and interlocks your fingers. He starts rocking his hips, and his dick rubs against your balls, your shaft. “What d’ya think you’re doin’?” His accent is thicker, and you can see the brightness of his orange eyes.

You’re retort isn’t as firm as his, laced with arousal as you are, “You were talkin’ about getting intimate, thought I’d step it up a notch.” 

He smiles at you, though it’s just a quirk of his mouth. “A little brazen.” 

You shrug the best you can.

His eyes are still visible through the gap of his shades, and his eyes roam over your face. It makes you feel more exposed than anything, like he can see straight through your glasses. He rubs a hand through your hair and it dislodges them a bit, gives him a flash of your red eyes. You grasp the stem of your glasses, hold your hand there, watch as he watches you. When you remove them, you feel a bit stupid for acting like it’s some big reveal. Huge surprise, Dave actually has eyes, throw a party, light the fireworks, someone better call the presses because holy shit this is the biggest news since the survival of y2k. 

Your grip on your shades falters a bit before you lay them on the counter, and the clatter is louder than you anticipated. He keeps rubbing against you, too slowly to really do anything other than drive you mad. You lift your hand to his face again, the barest hint of tremble in your fingertips. Your fingertips glide along the stem, before slowly taking them off him.

And for him it is a big reveal. You have only seen your brother without his glasses a handful of times, and never had his eyes been so bright, or his brows so drawn. His mouth looks tense and you think for a moment he’s going to do something, and he does, with his hand in your hair, where you feel it belongs, and his mouth all over you. His teeth are the main attraction but his lips and tongue do a wonderful opening act. You find yourself back to the quivering mess of incomprehensibility again, and his nails against your skin are just driving it home. He’s got his mouth on your nipple and his hand pinching the other and it’s a sensation that you call out on. 

He sticks his fingers in your mouth again and you suck them greedily, only to have him pull them out a second later, trailing your spit across your jaw and down your neck. He applies the barest amounts of pressure to the divot of your collarbone with his first two fingers, and the breath that escapes you is a plea of its own. He continues down, around your nipple, pinching and tweaking and finally biting and you can’t look away from him, especially when his eyes flicker up to stare at you as he dots your skin with red bruises and burning bite marks. 

Trailing down down down, swirling around your belly button, tracing the jut of your hip down the line to your thigh where your dick stands ready for attention. You unconsciously whine when he forgoes the area entirely, instead grasping at his dick. He watches you as he does it, takes himself in his hand and gives his cock a few firm strokes. You want to throw your head back with the sparks it starts, but fuck if you could even look away. 

He’s got a hand on your thigh, holding you open, while he slowly rubs himself. You bite your lip as his eyes take you in hungrily. 

“Get ready to moan, li’l man.” 

You want to call him pathetic, you want to give back a witty retort that burns on your tongue because what a pretentious prick. But you know he’ll just throw it back at you, call you pathetic on seven different levels, because you are, writhing under his touch, hard from a bite and gasping just because he’s bigger and stronger than you are. 

His fingers grasp at you, press down the flesh of your thigh at each finger, squeezing. With your legs around his waist, he lines himself up, and it’s agonizing. He goes so slowly, inch by fucking inch and you can hear the huff of his groan just beneath his breath. It drives you wild; it makes you press your feet into his back to try and spur him on and he just fucking grins at you with the most cocky, shit-eating grin ever, and stops. 

Stops halfway in and you nearly scream. 

You pull at his arms, press at his back, arch until the whole of your back is off the counter. “Move you fucking prick!”

He smirks at you and presses a little farther in, rocking in place so you feel just the barest of sensation. You try to push yourself more on him, to get him deeper, but every time you try, he pulls out more, drawing a frustrated grunt from you that makes his smirk grow.

“Li’l man, I’m trying to put on an auditory show for the neighbors, the least you could do is be a bit more vocal.” He says it with sarcasm dripping down his chin. 

You grunt and throw your head back, scraping your nails at the counter, gripping arms and his shoulders before finally snagging your fingers on his collar and bringing him close enough to knock his hat off and grip at his hair. 

“Fucking move you fucking cunt.” You surge forward to crash your lips to his, and by whatever merciful deity that deins to smile on your punk ass, he moves. 

It’s hurried, like he hadn’t meant to in the first place, slamming into you with more force than you anticipated and causing you to arch away from him and break the kiss. It stings enough to make your eyes water, falling down tracks previously laid, but the feeling of being full makes your body tingle. “Fuck,” the sound is strangled around the arousal that closes your throat. You’ve got your hands clawing around his arms and dragging at the sleeves of his shirt, grabbing at his neck to pull him closer and gripping at his shirt where it lays across his chest. 

“Listen to you, fucking listening to you,” and he thrusts harder each time just to draw those short moans from your mouth. He’s grunting just under his breath, more punctuating his thrusts than being caused by them. It accentuates the sound of his skin slapping yours, of his hips against your thighs, his hand still squeezing just at the juncture of your leg, his other hand holding down your hip. 

Your mumbling, words spilling out of your mouth to dissipate with your pants, “Fuck me, fuck me, harder, please, Bro, please, harder harder fuck me fuck me fuck me.” And his eyes are trained on your face, on where your eyebrows are drawn up and when your eyes flutter closed and your mouth that keeps running and running and running. 

“Fucking look at you jesus christ.” His words make you swallow hard, swallow your words only to return to your rhythm with a gasp, drawing in as much breath as you can only to have him hammer it out of you. And he does, fuck he does, no mercy when his hips snap against yours and its just the way you like it. You ask for more, keep asking for more, and he murmurs about how wonderful you look, sound. “Wanna taste you.” So he does. He keeps thrusting shallowly, hiking your legs over his shoulders. He kisses at your knee and fucking slams into you, and you scream.

The small of your back is off the counter, and the slide of your shoulders against the counter is cold, but so so satisfying as he forces you back and forth, making you take his dick as he leaves bruises from where he’s holding your legs against him. Your neck hurts from holding your head up so you can watch his stomach muscles clench, as he drives into you, as his arms flex and his fingers grip your skin. You can feel sweat bead at your temples, into your collarbone, along your back, the backs of your knees.

You can’t grip at anything, writing and crying out and moaning like a goddamn whore because it feels so fucking good. He angles at an upstroke and you see white. What rips from your throat is ungodly, black and dripped in lust, it paints your lips in sinful oil and bubbles down your chin, coiling thick and heavy in the pit of your stomach. It leaves you heaving with a thin voice, your words kick started into over time, “Please please please, I’m fucking begging you,” you’re sobbing each word. With eyes scrunched tight and brow furrowed high into your hairline, everything is a blur of sensation. 

“So fucking close, kid.” You feel Bro tense and you can’t help but clench around him. You nod and babble and whine. You can feel it from the base of your spine all the way to your toes, a sharp spark added each time he thrusts. The pace is near manic, your voice is near gone.

He bends over you so your knees are almost to your head. You clench your teeth grip at his hair. He dares another upstroke and everything is white. He claws at your ass, at your thighs, switching between holding your knees and marking every inch of skin that he can get his hands on. He nips at you, breathing heavily over your neck, your collarbones. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” you can see the edges of his smirk, “put on a show, li’l bro.” 

He’s got you, under his hands, his teeth, his gaze. Everything is molten lurching inside of you; it bubbles just beneath the surface and you’re only able to give one more choked cry before you explode. It’s a blaze of color as you arch to an extreme, shoulders and hips off the counter, clinging to Bro’s shoulders as shudders wrack you and hot come spatters between you both. 

Bro pulls out, and your shivers intensify at the feeling. You watch him as he jacks himself over you, your legs still over his shoulders. He grits his teeth and the tendons in his neck stand out in sharp relief.There is a small stirred interest to bite at them, but you watch instead the way his muscles move in his arms, the way his abs tighten, and then he’s spilling all over you. It lands hot and heavy as his gasped-groan rolls over you. 

You feel empty and debauched, shivingering with cooling sweat and sweet aftershocks. Bro cleans you up, strips you down until you’re shivering in his arms. 

Every bruise and bump is suddenly a flare on your body, bright red in pain and you relish it. You allow yourself a small smile as he carries you into the bed, places your glasses on the bedside table with a noticeable clatter so you’re reassured.

He is always really good with this shit, indulging in your own twisted shit and then making sure that you’re okay. He wipes you down with a wet cloth, ridding the sensation of sticky sweat, and your eyes feel so heavy. 

“How you doin’ li’l man?” And he asks so sweetly. There’s a smile tugging at your lips, and you’re not entirely sure if that’s okay or not.

“Fucking fantastic, I told you you don’t gotta treat me like I’m gonna break?” You would cringe at your accent if you had the faculties to. It always comes out so much more when you don’t have the state of mind to stop it, but the way Bro looks at you, naked eyes filled with affection, still sans glasses, it makes you warm all over. 

He stands, “Get some rest, li’l man,” and there’s a feeling of cold dread that strikes you. 

“Wait!” Your voice is beyond hoarse, nothing short of wrecked, and Bro gives you a small grin. 

“Just give me a sec, alright?”

So you do, drifting between consciousness and sweet sleep for several minutes, always sure to stay alert enough to hear him come back. And come back he does, shirtless, clad in some ratty grey sweats. He climbs into the bed with you, gentle as can be, and you welcome the change. His hands feel different like this, not wrapped in sex and sensation. He curls up against you, one arm as a pillow and the other as a reassurance around your middle. You fall asleep with the warmth of his breath against the back of your neck.

**Author's Note:**

> So this is 15 pages and 7k+ words of pure smut. I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing with my life, but I do know that this got a wee bit out of hand. 
> 
> My tumblr: literarytonguetied.tumblr.com


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